Welt
Would I might mend the fabric of my youth
Which daily flaunts its tatters to my eyes,
Would I might compromise awhile with truth
Until love's moon, now waxing, wanes and dies.
For I would go a further while with you
And drain this Cup of Joy so passing fair,
Which meets my parching lips like cooling dew
'Ere time has brushed cold fingers through my hair.
Which daily flaunts its tatters to my eyes,
Would I might compromise awhile with truth
Until love's moon, now waxing, wanes and dies.
For I would go a further while with you
And drain this Cup of Joy so passing fair,
Which meets my parching lips like cooling dew
'Ere time has brushed cold fingers through my hair.
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